Failsafe
by Caroline
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR WINTER FINALE. The dreams begin when she and Henry return from their road trip.
1. Recurrence

The dreams begin shortly after she and Henry return from their road trip. She'd taken him all over New England before his Christmas break just for fun. They've been West and they've been South, but never North. So she'd shown him parts of Maine and Vermont and upstate New York before their return to Boston.

That first night back was when she had the first dream. It was disjointed and incredibly hard to follow. Something about magic and a book and a small fishing town somewhere on the Eastern seaboard. She had awoke feeling as though she knew the place well.

She has another the next night and it's virtually the same. Nothing cohesive that she can make sense of, but the small town is there again and she awakes feeling as if she'd been close with many of the citizens. All of them had been faceless and yet somehow she felt warm around them, as if they were close friends or family.

She tells Henry about the dreams and he looks at her like she's nuts. He doesn't say much about them except for "Oh" or "weird" when it seems appropriate for him to add something. She thinks he knows less what to do about the dreams than she does.

The third one is even more disjointed than the others. In this one, there's a woman - faceless, like all the rest, and yet she's quite different. She hears her voice - it's a distinctive, smooth cadence. She sees flashes of brown eyes and hears various iterations of her name. Sometimes it's her first, other times she's called 'Miss Swan' or 'Sheriff Swan' by the mystery woman.

What's more strange is the polarizing emotions she volleys between throughout the dream. Occasionally she feels anger toward the brunette, and a bit of jealousy. Others she feels concern and fear and care. And no matter which end of the spectrum, the feelings are always intense. She wakes up confused and in a fog, trying to place the brown hair and brown eyes.

Again, she tells Henry about the dream - this time she's rewarded with a big grin and a question as to whether she's seeing someone. Emma rolls her eyes and sends him to school.

The next night, the mystery woman returns. She still can't see her entire face, but she feels the same polarizing emotions toward her, and a strong undercurrent connecting them. She keeps feeling like this woman is important, but she can't figure out how.

Somewhere around a week in, her dreams get even more abstract. There are billowing purple clouds, rainbow-edged pulses of light, potions and magic spells. All contained within this small fishing town, and all seemingly commonplace for its inhabitants. There's a girl that can turn into a wolf, and a nun with a magic wand. She gets a flash of herself and the brunette somehow kicking up swirls of violet smoke just by touching one another.

Then there's a searing fear as a cloaked black figure swoops toward the faceless brunette. Emma lunges for her, shoving her out of the way, and she finds herself yelling "Regina!" as she wakes abruptly.

Luckily, that's when Henry's in his room playing video games, and she's left to recover from the dream... and wonder who this 'Regina' is... on her own.

* * *

Her work suffers because of the recurring dreams. Her one-cup-a-day coffee habit has been upped to three, and even her disgruntled partner takes on an air of concern.

"Look kid," he tells her, watching her blow on another steaming Styrofoam cup of the high-octane blend, "If things are tough outside work, you can tell me, got it?"

Emma just nods off his concerns and keeps trucking - it's how she always handles things. She doesn't have time to let a few crazy dreams take over her life, anyway. She's incredibly close to making the detective squad at her precinct and she's not in the mood to shoot herself in the foot.

Whatever she can do to get a little more money for herself and Henry. Mostly for Henry - the kid is going through shoe sizes like nobody's business. And she thought his toddler years were tough, trying to keep him in clothes that fit. Since puberty has reared its head, it's been fifty times tougher.

"Swan! Sullivan! You're on the streets today," her captain announces during their morning pow-wow, and it leaves Emma reaching for more high-octane black coffee.

"Great," she sighs, side-eyeing her partner. Street duty is never a favorite within the precinct, and always equivalent to drawing the short straw. They all take turns, but it seems as though she and her partner have been getting more of it than usual.

"This must be his way of telling me I didn't get the job," she huffs as she climbs out of the squad car a half hour later.

Sullivan, in his usual manner, just shrugs and offers, "Maybe it's his way of puttin' ya to the test."

"Well if I get one more day of this, I'm just gonna go ahead and take a big fat 'F' on that test." Chucking her now-empty coffee cup into a nearby trash bin, she zips her jacket all the way to her neck.

Despite it being only early December, winter has already settled itself in to Massachusetts, and her blue uniform has been taken over by a standard-issue BPD down jacket and black leather gloves.

"Well look at it as a way to window-shop for Christmas on the precinct's dime," Sullivan tells her with a grin. Then he asks, "Whatcha gettin' the kid this year?"

Emma smirks ruefully. "New shoes. He's starting to break out of the ones I got him on his birthday." Shrugging, she adds, "Maybe a video game too."

Sullivan launches into a story about his grandson's last growth spurt, and that's when Emma sees it. A scuffle on the corner just two blocks down. She nudges her partner, "Sully," and gestures where she's staring.

It appears a mugging is in progress during their usually-boring patrol, and they both take off. Sullivan's no spring chicken and Emma beats him to the corner just as the mugger knocks a woman to the ground and takes off with her purse. "HEY!" she yells, and is torn between chasing the mugger and tending to the victim.

He's already a block away and she grabs for the walkie-talkie on her shoulder. She gives the dispatcher her coordinates and the direction the mugger is headed even though she knows it's useless. On the rare occasions they do encounter a mugging, the belongings are almost never recovered.

"Ma'am?" She addresses the victim, crouching down beside her and touching her shoulder.

There's a flick of brown hair, and then a pair of brown eyes meet hers. "Officer..."

Then all at once it's too much. Emma's heart practically stops at the rush of images from her dreams. The hair, the eyes... the voice. It's all the same. She sees the cloaked figure and the swirls of violet and her mouth runs off without her:

"Regina?!"

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Recognition

The woman just stares at her, mouth going slack as she blinks those too-familiar brown eyes. "How did you—"

"Ma'am!" Sullivan catches up to them, reaching out to help the woman up. "Are you alright?"

She takes the proffered hand and gets to her feet, her legs shaky from the shock of the ordeal. "I-I… think so, yes."

"What's your name?"

"Uh…" Blinking, she looks away from Emma and tells him, "Regina. Regina Mills." Then, her gaze is back on Emma. "How did you know that?"

Emma shakes her head, still slightly stunned. "I-I don't... I don't know."

Sullivan glances between them curiously. "You two know each other?"

Regina's reply is smooth, if a bit snotty. "Apparently." Then, she sticks out her gloved hand. "And yet, I don't believe I caught your name, Officer…?"

"Swan." Emma reaches out her own gloved hand and shakes Regina's.

"Officer Swan." This Regina, whoever she is, holds an air of importance. Whether it's warranted or just her perception remains to be seen. She fixes her fitted pea coat around herself, flicks her hair and asks, "When can I expect to have my belongings returned to me?"

"Um…" Emma turns to her partner, hoping he'll take the lead. He's better with this stuff anyway.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to say, but it's very rare that belongings are recovered after a mugging."

"Really."

The sound of her voice is clipped and curt, and Emma watches in wonder as those familiar brown eyes flash with ire. She thinks back to her dreams and can't help believing that it's the exact same angry flash.

"So rather than chase down my attacker, this obvious rookie," she gestures to Emma, "Stands and stares at me like she's seen a ghost. And because of that, my phone, my credit cards and all of my belongings are just gone. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Ma'am, I understand your frustration—"

"I called for backup," Emma breaks in, finding her voice again.

Regina looks at her, tilting her head expectantly.

She withers a little under the stare. "I-I called for backup. So if there were officers nearby, they might have caught him."

Regina raises her brows dubiously. "'Might have,'" she repeats, then sniffs mirthlessly. "Well if the 'backup' is anything like you two, I guess I won't hold my breath."

"Ma'am, we're very sorry," Sullivan apologizes. "If you'd like, you could come down to the station and file a report. That way if your things turn up, we can get them back to you."

Sighing, Regina says, "I'd rather not have any more of my time wasted. Here." She fishes into her pocket and pulls up a business card. "Since my phone was stolen, you can contact me at my office if my purse magically turns up."

Emma takes it from her and pockets it. "We'll call right away."

"Thank you."

"You sure you're alright, ma'am? We could call someone for you if you're a little shaken up. A family member, maybe?"

Regina sighs once more, folding her arms. "Don't have any." After a beat, her tone warms just slightly as she says, "I'm fine, though, thank you. I'll just continue on to work."

"Sorry, again," Emma apologizes, wincing. She has no idea what else to do at this point.

Having already turned away, Regina stops in her tracks and turns over her shoulder. Her mouth is drawn in a solemn line and she tells Emma quietly, coldly, "You should be," and walks off.

Sullivan watches her go and, once she's out of earshot, he shakes his head and mutters, "Bitch."

Emma doesn't disagree.

* * *

Emma pulls out the business card she was given when she returns to the station. On it she finds Regina's name embossed on some sort of high-priced card stock. Then, she sees the job title and smirks. "Hey Sully."

Her partner lifts his head from the other side of their double-desk. "Yeah?"

She flicks the business card at him. "She's a stock broker."

He chuckles. "Guess that explains the attitude." He returns to his paperwork momentarily, then lifts only his eyes as he asks, "Y'gonna call her?"

She frowns. "Why?"

"You were lookin' at her like she was your long lost best friend or something." Shaking his head, he adds, "Picked an interesting one, Swan, if that's who she is."

Emma smirks, then shakes her head and takes the card back. "No, I don't know her." Looking over the embossed name again, her tone turns thoughtful. "Kinda thought I did, but… maybe it was just a dream."

Sullivan snorts quietly and tells her, "You gotta get more sleep."

"Yeah." Emma turns the card over in her hand, then slips it into her pocket again. "Maybe."

* * *

By the time she gets home, Henry is already cooking dinner. He turns when she comes through the door and smiles. "There you are! You're late."

"Sorry, kid," she sighs, tossing her things on the floor in the entryway.

"Busy?"

"Yeah, sorta." She leans on the counter with both arms. "Hey, y'know those dreams I told you about?"

Almost regretfully, he asks, "You're not gonna tell me another one, are you? They're kinda hard to follow."

"Yeah, I know. And no, I'm not. You know that woman in the dreams I keep mentioning?"

"The one with the brown hair?"

Emma nods. "I met her today."

Henry raises his brows. "She's real?" Off her nod, he asks, "Well what's she like?"

Emma flicks her own brows upward and tries to think of phrasing that will be appropriate for her son. She finally settles on, "Not very nice," and perches on one of the barstools.

"That's too bad."

Henry turns with a pot of spaghetti in hand, and Emma watches as he takes it to the sink and dumps it in the strainer waiting there. Then it dawns on her. "Hey, what's all this for?"

He shrugs. "I'm just making spaghetti."

Emma smirks. "For me?"

"Well, and for me too."

"Awww!" She can't resist – she kisses the top of his head and ruffles his hair, happy to ignore how he rolls his eyes and smirks at her embarrassing antics. "That's so sweet!"

She then resolves to forget about Regina for the rest of the night as she teases her son, "I dunno who raised you to be this thoughtful, but she did a hell of a job."

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Number Six

Emma gets a reprieve from the dreams that night. Her sleep is not dreamless, though the small fishing town and the faceless brunette (who now has a face) are nowhere in sight. There's no purple smoke, no magic potions or sorcerers, and it's a welcome change.

She and Henry go about their usual morning routine – she cooks breakfast and he waters the plants while they listen to music. As soon as his plate is cleared, then, he's grabbing his lunchbox and throwing on his coat, barely hugging her goodbye before he's gone. And she readies herself for another day at the station, which hopefully will not include patrolling the streets.

"Good news, kid," Sullivan greets her as she reaches the desk.

She raises her brows hopefully. "No street patrol?"

"Not today, though that's not the good news."

"Oh!" The relief she feels is short-lived as she then asks, "Well then what?"

"We caught the mugger," he smiles, and folds his arms.

Her eyebrows bounce back up. "Really."

"Yeah, sounds like Martinez got him just before he reached the North End. Was gonna call your 'dream girl,' but I couldn't find the card."

"Oh." Emma's heart stutters, and she reaches into her pocket, fishing out the business card she had been given the day before. "Here. I forgot I had it."

"Uh-huh." Sullivan smirks.

Emma glares at him. "And for the record, she's not my 'dream girl.' I had a dream that I knew someone that looked _kinda_ like her, but it wasn't her." She can feel her face turning red – her cheeks are suddenly ten degrees warmer – and her glare sharpens. "So shut up."

Sullivan just chuckles and shakes his head, throwing the card on his desk and reaching for the phone. "Whatever, kid. Either way, she's gotta come in and identify him."

And Emma feels something unmistakably like excitement or dread, she can't tell which.

* * *

When she arrives, Regina blows into the station with the stride of a queen – confident and tall, her hands the pockets of her trench coat.

A tilt of the head is her greeting with a miniscule lift of the brow, along with a smooth, "Officer Swan."

Her strong voice carries, garnering the attention of the other officers in the bullpen, though her eyes are narrowed on Emma. Emma once again flashes back to one of her dreams. She feels like she's seen this focused energy and intensity before – like she's been the center of that focus. But again, she forces herself to push that idea away, deeming it silly.

_It's just a dream_, she keeps telling herself. Even though she knows it's more like a _lot_ of dreams – all of them somehow starring this woman that's now invading her space as if it's a common occurrence between them.

"You've found him?" she asks.

Emma plasters on the fakest smile she can muster. "Good to see you again, Ms. Mills. How are you today?"

"Busy. Could we make this quick, please?"

Emma sighs, turning to her partner. "Sully?"

"Follow me."

While Sullivan leads Regina to the viewing room, Emma hangs back to retrieve her belongings. It's handed to her in a large evidence bag by one of their techs, and she tucks it under her arm as she heads into the viewing room.

The lineup is just getting started, with the first few shuffling in.

"Hey Swan," Sullivan passes her a folder, "Here are the notes from Martinez."

With a nod, she begins to look them over, and only half-listens as her partner instructs each of the men in the lineup to step forward and turn to face each direction. Regina is instructed to wait until they've finished before identifying her attacker, and Emma is just finishing up glancing through the case notes as she hears her say, "It's him. Number six."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Number six, please step forward again," Sully leans into the mic.

Emma slowly looks up, and as her eyes settle on the final man in the lineup, they nearly bug out of her head.

"_Neal?"_

Both Regina and Sullivan look over their shoulders at her.

From her partner, she gets confusion. "Swan?"

And from Regina, she gets incredulity. "You _know_ this man?"

That's when Neal, on the other side of the two-way mirror, rises slightly on tiptoe as if he's able to look into the viewing room. He's still holding a large number 6 in front of him as he calls toward the glass, "Hey, sorry, is Emma Swan back there? I gotta talk to her, it's important!"

Now, the incredulity on the brunette transforms into something like outrage. "I cannot believe this." She turns to Sullivan and advances on him, pointing behind her toward the glass. "If this is some sort of targeted attack or 'inside job,' you can rest assured I will take any and all legal measures possible to ensure suffering."

Sullivan holds up his hands, clearly intimidated despite being a good several inches taller and a couple dozen inches wider. "I assure you, Ms. Mills, we're gonna get to the bottom of this." He turns to Emma, raising his brows pointedly. "Swan? Hallway."

But that's seemingly not good enough to sate the brunette's fury. Her fists press into her waist as she demands, "I want to speak to your Captain, immediately!"

Sullivan tries a placating smile, but it just comes off as nervous as he quickly gets out, "Yes ma'am, of course, just a moment please," while shoving on Emma's shoulders. "_Now_, Swan."

Emma knows she's going to have to answer for this, but she's too stunned to even process what's going on. The last time she had seen Neal was before she got carted off to jail for his stolen watches, unknowingly pregnant and eighteen years old. Now somehow he's in Boston, after all these years, and he just happened to swipe the purse of some woman that's been popping up in her dreams?

None of it makes any sense. She feels a little dizzy, like after one shot too many, and she braces her hand on the cool cement wall just outside the viewing room. Sully's eyes are wide as he stares at her, mirroring her position as he regards her and talks to her in clipped, hushed tones.

"Alright. What the hell's goin' on here, kid?"

Emma shakes her head, sincerely at a loss for words. "I honestly have _no_ fucking clue, Sully."

"How the hell do you know the perp?"

She sighs and closes her eyes, dropping her face briefly into her hands before looking up again. "It's hard to explain, but he's kinda… Henry's dad."

A string of curses escape her partner in a whisper as he looks away and shakes his head, elbow now braced on the wall. "White's gonna tear us both a new one for this."

"Sully, I promise you… I have _no_ idea what he's doing here, or-or… why he attacked that woman. I haven't even _seen_ him in twelve years!"

"Well he was obviously lookin' for ya! Why? And _if_ he was lookin' for ya, Swan, why the hell would he mug someone just to get your goddamn attention?"

"_I don't know!_" she hissed, desperation heavy in her tone.

"Well you better figure it out, and fast! As soon as the Captain hears about this, you've gotta have answers to _all_ of those questions. And then some, once IAB gets involved."

"Jesus." The entire hallway tilts and sways around her, and she slumps back against the wall, rubbing her forehead between her thumb and fingers.

There's too much going on and her brain is powerless to keep up. The dreams – the faceless brunette named Regina who somehow magically appeared in her waking life. Then Neal, showing up out of the blue, seemingly on purpose…

Slowly, she takes a breath. Her hand drops back to her side and she straightens up, looking at her partner and begging him quietly, "Let me talk to him."

"What?" he hisses. "Are you nuts? You're tryin' to make detective here, Swan. If you talk to him, you might not even get to carry a badge anymore."

"Sully, _please_." Briefly, she glimpses around for prying eyes and ears from the officers and techs that pass by, her mouth in a thin line. Then, she turns back to her partner, lowering her voice a few more decibels. "Just keep the Mills woman occupied, for five minutes. I have to know what the hell he's doing here. Especially if I'm gonna lose my job over it."

Her partner blows out a long, slow puff of air, like she's sucking it out of him just for asking. He stares at her with big eyes and raised brows; then, he blinks and seems to relent, nodding slowly. "Alright, fine." He holds up one hand, fingers spread – five. "_Five_ minutes with 'bachelor number six,' got it? After that five minutes is up, I can't guarantee what happens."

"Thanks." She pats his shoulder. "I owe ya one."

"Yeah." She feels his eyes on her as she heads for the interrogation room, his voice following after. "Add 'million' onto the end of that, kid, and you'd be right!"

* * *

It must take Sullivan longer than usual to placate Regina and dismiss the guys in the lineup, because Emma is left to pace in the interrogation room for a good five minutes. By the time the door finally opens, she feels cagey and is more than certain she's sporting a case of the crazy eyes.

Neal stops just in front of the table as the door closes behind him, grinning at her like they're old friends. "Em."

The sound sparks a fury twelve years old in her, and she clenches her jaw. "Sit down," she barks.

Neal's smile fades as if reality's caught up with him, "Right," and he does as he's told.

Once he's seated, he begins to look around the interrogation room. Emma folds her arms across her chest and then unfolds them just as quickly, readjusting her position to lean on the table. That position is dropped immediately and she straightens up again. She's so cagey she can't even decide how to stand, and finally she just blurts out the first thing on her mind: "What the _hell_, Neal?!"

"I know."

His expression is unreadable, and she wonders if it's because she hasn't seen him in twelve years, or if she's just so out of her mind right now she wouldn't be able to read the alphabet if it was put in front of her.

"'_You know?'"_ she repeats, voice raising. She thinks of how she waited for him and wanted to build a life with him, only to be surprised by getting hauled off to jail instead. She thinks of the morning sickness she had to endure, crouched over a cold metal toilet in the middle of a cell with three other women watching her.

She thinks of the stark delivery room in Phoenix where she gave birth to their son and _finally_ saw a light at the end of the tunnel the first time she held him in her arms. "You show up here after 12 years, mug some chick as a means of 'dropping in' on me, and then tell me 'you know'? What in the f—"

"Look." He holds up his hands to stop the avalanche of expletives on their way out. "I know it's a huge shock, and that there's a lot of crazy shit going through your head right now—"

"Oh you have _no_ idea," she growls, her glare sharp.

"—but just give me a minute to explain."

She savagely rips the empty chair out from under the table, its legs scraping on the floor. She plops herself down ungracefully, telling him, "You have exactly three minutes to clear all this up before _I_ get dragged in to my CO's office to get my badge taken away." She gestures to him with a sweep of her wrist, folding her arms a moment later as she tells him, "So go."

"Fine. I _had_ to do this."

Emma shakes her head, lip curling in disgust. "Haven't changed a bit, huh? You just couldn't help yourself."

"No, Emma, you don't understand. I _knew_ you were here, in Boston. Regina too."

She thinks back on the Mills woman's accusation and says, "So this _was_ a targeted thing."

"Kinda, yeah, but not in the way you think it is. I was sent here to do this."

"You were sent here? By who?"

Neal winces. "That's… kinda complicated, and you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She huffs, giving him a look. "It have anything to do with how you abandoned me in Phoenix twelve years ago and let me get thrown in jail?"

Neal averts his eyes, looking like he's been caught. Or confused. Both expressions look pretty much the same on him. "Uh… it… kinda ties in with it, but it's more complicated than that." He leans forward, his arms on the table. "I had to come here to find you." He holds her gaze. "You, and Regina, and Henry."

Her son's name on his lips sends ice flowing through her veins. Her stomach drops and she knows whatever skeptical expression she _had_ been wearing was just wiped clean off. Lowly, barely above a whisper, she asks him, "How the hell do you know about Henry?"

Neal gestures to her. "You told me about him, months ago."

Her palms are flat on the table, gripping the flat surface as if there's something to grab on to. She can feel the stainless steel heating up beneath her palms, and she knows there might be sweat marks left behind. "I have never once spoken to you about _my_ son."

"You have, but you don't remember. And it's okay," he tells her.

His voice scrapes her nerve endings in the most unpleasant way, like nails on a chalk board. She feels like he's patronizing her, and she won't put up with it for a moment longer. "Neal, just tell me why the hell you were sent here!"

He looks equally frustrated, "Fine!" and finally he just throws his hands up and says it:

"I had to make sure you and Regina found each other."

* * *

**TBC**


	4. Curses and Realms

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Emma balks, leaning back in her chair. "How are we supposed to 'find' each other if we've never met?"

"You have, though. You _know_ you have."

Huffing, Emma presses her hands into the table again, pushing herself up. "This is ridiculous, Neal." She starts for the door, telling him, "I don't know what you're doing here, or why you're using _that_ as your cover story for robbing this woman, but I can't sit here and listen to this anymore."

Just as she reaches for the door handle, Neal's voice stops her in her tracks: "I know about the dreams."

And for the second time that day, Emma's blood runs cold. Her hand stills in mid-air just above the door handle and she spins on her heel. "What did you just say?"

Neal gets to his feet, his eyes desperate. She remembers the look well from their many convenience store grifts gone awry. "I know about the dreams," he repeats. "That's where you've seen her before… right?"

She's left too stunned to do anything but open and close her mouth around unformed thoughts. She's torn between wanting to walk away from him and never look back, and wanting to find out how the hell he knows what he knows, and why.

Neal seizes the opportunity to confuse her even further. "I know about them because I watched her give them to you. She was trying to contact you, from our realm. She was trying to get you to remember. But when it wasn't working, she left to find you. We didn't know she would forget too."

"'Your realm?'" Emma shakes her head. "You're insane."

"I'm not insane. You just don't remember."

"What the hell is there to remember, Neal?!" she yells. She advances on him again and takes a little bit of pride in how he withers and sits down again. "You know what I remember? I remember you telling me how we were gonna build a life for ourselves in Tallahassee. I remember waiting for you and getting busted by the cops for a bunch of watches that _you_ stole! I remember being pregnant while I served out a sentence that should've been yours. I remember waiting for you to come and find me. I remember raising my son, all on my own, and never hearing a word from you ever again, Neal! _That's_ what _I_ remember."

His face falls. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that that's all you remember. But that's part of why I'm here. Regina, she… she gave you a lot of those memories when she destroyed the curse. That's why I had to make sure you guys found each other. She was supposed to give you your memories back. That's why you were having those dreams – that was her, Emma! That was Regina trying to put some of your memories back!"

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but you need some serious help. Curses? Realms? It-it's like you're living in some, some… fantasy land! Nobody can _give_ dreams to someone else. How would that even work?"

"Do you still sleep with that dream catcher over your bed?"

He gives her a little smile and she thinks it may be the most infuriating thing she's seen in a long time. She wants to wring his neck. But before she does, she needs about fifty thousand questions answered.

Neal's only saving grace comes in the form of her partner, who pokes his head into the interrogation room and tells her quietly, "Swan. White wants to see ya."

She sighs, throwing Neal a murderous look. "Great. Now I'm gonna get reamed by my boss, because you're a psycho." To Sullivan, she says lowly, "Don't release him. He needs a psych eval." She then starts heading out the door and down the hall.

"I'm not a psycho, Emma!" she hears Neal calling after her. "I'm here to help you remember!"

She sighs again and keeps up her steady stride, feeling a little bit like she's heading off the gallows.

* * *

"Have a seat," is the first thing she's told as she enters her captain's office, and she immediately abides.

Her captain is a fairly even-keeled man, on most occasions. He's around her partner's age – mid-fifties with a wife, four kids and a few grandkids. Under his rule, the precinct is a semi-functional family. Which leaves Emma now wondering if this is what it's like being faced with an angry parent.

She stares at his name plate: Brian White, in capital letters, emblazoned across the front in gold; a gift from the entire precinct for his twentieth anniversary. She hears his long, drawn-out sigh and raises her eyes.

That's when he starts talking. He starts out quiet, every word slow and deliberate. He talks about her stellar track record at the station and her recent application for one of the detective positions that had opened up. Then he gets into the debacle of the day – their suspect asking for her by name during the lineup and the mad-as-hell stock broker threatening a lawsuit over a potential 'inside job.'

By the time he gets around to mentioning the required investigation by the Internal Affairs Bureau, his voice has raised to a yell. The phrase 'ass in a sling' gets thrown around more times than she can count. The only break in his tirade comes when Sullivan slips into the office, drawing their attention.

"Captain, we're holding the suspect overnight until our victim decides whether or not she wants to press charges."

"Fine," he huffs.

Emma steals this break in his anger and leans forward, her hands on the edge of his desk. "Captain… you have to believe me, I have _no_ involvement in this whatsoever."

"He called you by name, Swan!"

"We have a history, yes. I'll own up to that much. But I haven't seen him in twelve years. I have _no_ idea why he robbed that woman – and when I tried to ask him about it in the interrogation room-"

"You _interrogated_ him?!"

Closing her eyes against his shrill tone, she continues, "When I asked him about the mugging, he said some really strange stuff. Like, insane stuff. I think he needs to be evaluated."

Her captain shakes his head. "You're off this case, Swan. You had no reason to interrogate the suspect, and you sure as hell shouldn't have spoken a word to him after he identified you. You might as well have just signed your own termination papers."

"Captain, please—"

"Enough. As of right now, you're on administrative leave. Turn in your badge and your gun."

Emma drops her mouth in surprise, fumbling for something… anything… to get him to change his mind. She turns over her shoulder to her partner. "Sully…"

He just shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, kid."

A lump forms in her throat as she looks back at the captain and he looks away. Apparently, the discussion (if it ever was one) has ended. So there's nothing left for her to do but rise from the chair. She unpins her badge from her uniform and sets it on his desk, pulling her gun from its holster next and laying it beside the badge.

Then she turns and leaves without so much as a backward glance, not wanting them to see the angry tears in her eyes.

* * *

The next twenty-four hours are the slowest of her life. She manages to keep Henry from finding out about her suspension, telling him instead that she opted for an impromptu vacation. He's thrilled at the idea, and tries (unsuccessfully) to convince her to let him skip school.

While he's away, she tries to do a background check on Neal, to find out where he's been. But her attempts are thwarted – her usual avenues of gathering information are blocked due to the suspension. She tries calling Sullivan to plead with him to help her out, but her calls go to voicemail.

Frustration settles in and she decides to go for a walk. Her keys are still in her BPD jacket and she stuffs her hands in the pockets to get them. That's when she feels it.

She pulls out the piece of card stock along with the keys and stares at the embossed name and address. She feels a somersault in her gut and stashes the card away once again, this time in the pocket of her jeans.

She hates to admit it, even inwardly to herself, but Neal's words are sticking in her head. How could he possibly have known about the dreams? But so much didn't add up. Curses and dream catchers and this brunette that supposedly crossed realms to find her.

Even if that were true – if this woman truly did have some sort of weird psychic power to plant dreams in her head… how could she now not remember her? And if she was from some other crazy 'realm,' then how the hell would she suddenly be in Boston and already have a job as a stock broker? There's so much about Neal's tale that doesn't add up.

Sighing, she feels her pocket and the cardstock within as she gets to her feet. She goes to the door and grabs her winter coat off the hook, throwing it on and buttoning it to the top.

She needs to know more. But her sources at the station are on lockdown while she's suspended, and her partner won't return her calls. So that leaves her with one other option, unpleasant as it is.

She has to speak to Regina.

* * *

**TBC**


	5. And What Army

The huge corporate office is in the heart of downtown Boston, and getting inside is tantamount to trying to get inside the CIA. Without her badge, Emma knows she has no chance of getting in. So instead, she waits in the courtyard out front. Hiking the fur-lined collar of her coat up around her cheeks, she slumps against the bench and just hopes that Regina Mills is the type of person who goes out for lunch.

Sure enough, some ten minutes later, the brunette appears. Her strides are quick and purposeful, knowing the route though her gaze is on her phone. Emma, for some reason, feels a surge of energy rush through her as she presses her hands into her thighs and gets to her feet, ready for whatever attitude she's about to be on the receiving end of.

"Ms. Mills," she says, startling the brunette who looks up from her phone as if she's about to be accosted.

"Officer Swan." The phone is forgotten and slipped into the pocket of her trench coat. A wry smirk curls her lips. "Here to finish the job your friend started? Here." She holds out her purse by the strap, quirking an eyebrow. "Take it."

Emma glares. "I'm not here for that."

"Then what _are_ you doing here?" Slinging her purse over her shoulder again, she lifts her nose in the air and huffs, "You know this could constitute harassment."

Emma tilts her head, folding her arms. "Look, maybe you can sell the lawsuit threats to other people, but I'm not buying."

She feels triumphant then as she notices the shift in the brunette's expression. Gone is the air of smug superiority; instead she looks disappointed. And then annoyed.

"What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

If possible, she looks even haughtier, her nose the slightest bit higher in the air as she asks, "And what could you and I possibly have to discuss?"

Emma sighs, motioning to the bench behind her. "Just… sit, please."

Regina scrutinizes her silently, her eyes twitching into a narrow. She must deem her no threat, because soon she's seated, her hands still in the pockets of her coat. "Yes?"

Emma sits beside her, wondering where to start. "Look… I want to apologize for yesterday. In the viewing room, it… came as a shock even to me."

Regina tilts her head. "So you _do_ know that man."

Quirking an eyebrow, Emma replies dryly, "Unfortunately? Yeah. We… have a past. To put it lightly."

"You're not instilling a lot of confidence that this _wasn't_ a targeted attack on your part, Officer."

Emma shakes her head. "I had nothing to do with it, Ms. Mills. I can promise you that up and down, I can sign a contract or strap myself to a polygraph or whatever it will take for you to believe me and drop the lawsuit you're threatening against my precinct."

The sincerity in her tone must be obvious. Regina, momentarily, appears taken aback. Maybe even a bit remorseful. She looks away a moment and murmurs, "Oh."

"But…" Emma draws her attention again. "As far as it being targeted, it… kinda was."

The brunette furrows her brows. "I beg your pardon?"

Emma sighs. "Apparently, Ne—" She stops herself and tries again, "The suspect _was_ going after you, specifically. It wasn't a random mugging."

She watches Regina swallow, her head shaking slowly. "Officer Swan, why are you telling me this? I would think this kind of candor would violate some sort of protocol."

"Yeah, well," Emma tilts her head, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "Guess that's the good thing about being suspended. I don't have to follow the rules."

At that, Regina lifts her gaze. "You were suspended?"

Emma nods. "Yes." She waits for an 'I'm sorry,' but it never comes.

"So I should perhaps call you 'Miss Swan' then."

A shiver makes its way down Emma's spine, remembering the same name, in the same voice, pulled from somewhere in her subconscious.

She must look startled, because Regina quirks an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." It's quick and nervous, and her counterpart knows it's a blatant lie but doesn't press for details. Instead, the two of them just stare at each other. After a moment, Emma figures she's waiting for her to go on, so she takes a breath and tries to bury the sound of 'Miss Swan.'

"This guy, this suspect… apparently, he mugged you just so I would save you."

She's met with a skeptical expression. "Why?"

"He says he had to make us," she gestures between them, "Find each other."

"'Find each other?'" she repeats dubiously. "That doesn't make any sense."

"He thinks we know each other. Or-or… that we _did_, and that for whatever reason, we just can't remember."

Regina makes a face. "Well that's preposterous!"

"I know."

She thinks back to all the crazy things Neal said in the interrogation room. The curses, some other realm, and her – this woman, sitting beside her, that apparently planted dreams in her head and crossed realms to find her, only to forget. So much of what he said was concerning, on many different levels.

Quietly, she says, "I think he might be mentally unstable."

"Well I'll say!"

Emma sighs once more. "Look, I just… I just don't know that pursuing this will be worth your time. I mean, he thinks you're from some magical realm and that you can plant dreams in my head with a dream catcher, and when the dreams weren't helping me to 'remember,' you left this other magic realm to find me."

"Well…" Regina sits back a moment, clearly needing time to think over all the insanity that's just been hurtled at her. She shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly. "Putting aside the fact that there isn't even a remote possibility of something like that _ever_ happening…" She looks up and adds, "Doesn't that seem like something I should remember?"

"Yes, which is why I think this guy needs help! Not jail time."

"Miss Swan, if you're attempting to somehow bail your friend out—"

"No! No, that's not what I'm doing, I promise. I could care less if I ever see this guy again." She covers her face with her hand, feeling the situation slipping away from her slightly. She's exhausted and unbelievably confused, and she thinks the brunette can tell.

That suspicion is confirmed when she looks up to see her tilting her head at her, this time with an expression akin to pity on her face. Quietly, Regina tells her, "Go home, Officer. You seem quite tired. Perhaps the forced suspension isn't such a bad thing."

"Please think about what I said."

In a surprisingly kind tone, Regina tells her, "I will. But for now, I think you should leave."

"Right."

But it's Regina that is the first to leave, rising gracefully to her feet and readjusting her purse on her shoulder as she brushes past. Emma watches her go, part of her wondering what the hell just happened. Their discussion wasn't unbearable, nor was it pleasant. It was somewhere just below tolerable, but she supposes that's plenty for now.

* * *

Two days later, her suspension is still in effect. She's just about gone stir crazy and she thinks Henry can tell this isn't a vacation. He continually asks her if she's okay and when she's going back to work. The first question is always easily answered with as big a smile as she can muster along with a ruffle of his hair. The second is a bit more difficult to dodge, but she plays it off as though her vacation is up in the air – as though she's considering asking for another week off.

By the time she actually gets a return call from her partner, she's almost climbing the walls. "Sully!" she practically barks in his ear. "What the hell? I've been trying to call you!"

"Yeah, I know kid. Sorry, the captain's been breathin' down my neck."

She wants to ask him so many things. She wants to know if Neal's still there – if they were able to get him evaluated like she wanted – if they've heard anything else from the Mills woman as far as whether or not she's pressing charges. Or whether she's suing the station.

She's not sure what to ask first, but Sullivan beats her to the punch. "They released him this morning."

Her stomach turns, just a little. She sits down on the barstool hard enough that it sends a shockwave up her spine. "They did?"

"Yeah. I dunno what the hell happened, but it seems like someone talked some sense into that Mills chick. She's not pressin' charges and she's not takin' us to the cleaners, either."

A wave of relief hits her, and she can feel some of the tension in her shoulders release. "Well so what happened?"

"She came down to the station, talked to the captain for a few minutes, and then she was gone. Then he calls me in and tells me to let your guy out. He made a phone call and someone came to get him."

Emma's stomach churns a little more. "Who?"

"Who knows, just some guy. Kinda seemed like they were friends, but… kinda not."

"Well what did he look like?"

"I dunno, kid, Jesus! He was just some Johnny Depp lookin' punk with an earring and too much of that… what do they call it now? 'Guyliner'?"

Under normal circumstances, the word 'guyliner' from her partner's mouth would be borderline hilarious, but the hilarity is lost on her today. "Alright. Well… thanks, Sully."

"Yeah. I think White's gonna be callin' ya pretty soon here to get ya reinstated, but… can't say for sure."

There's a knock on the apartment door, and her attention diverts ever so briefly before she tells her partner distractedly, "Okay… thanks," and then hangs up the phone.

The pounding gets louder, and the nausea quickly assailing her tells her who she's going to find on the other side. Sure enough, when she swings it open, there's Neal.

"We gotta talk," he tells her, and she immediately shakes her head.

"Nothing for us to discuss, Neal. Glad to see you got out." And she moves to shut the door.

Neal quickly braces his hand against it. "Not so fast," he smiles.

She's forgotten how quick his reflexes are. It always helped during grifts and getaways. Now it's making her wonder if she should call for backup, and she mentally reminds herself where her weapons are hidden.

"What do you want?"

"I told you – we gotta talk. And this time, I'm not leaving until you remember everything."

Emma rolls her eyes, the arm holding the door straining against Neal's strength as he tries to hold it open. "Right, okay," she smirks wryly. "You're not leaving until I remember magical things that could never happen in real life. You and what army are gonna accomplish that?"

That's when the man Sullivan had described appears beside Neal in her doorway – a dark-haired man with several days' growth, an earring, and a long leather duster.

"Not an army, love," he grins at her. "A pirate."

**TBC**


End file.
